


Shards

by orphan_account



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 10:04:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14952584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Trollhunter was a cruel master, and Stricklander was at his complete unforgiving mercy.





	Shards

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's first fic! And it's a dark one to boot. This is inspired by an au where Jim becomes Trollhunter at a younger age and goes insane from the murderkilling he gotta do as the Trollhunter and becomes a horrifying person by the time when the series takes place. He kidnaps Strickler because he's a changeling and ends up keeping him.
> 
> There's not much that could be counted as graphic until the very end, and nothing is explicit. It's still very dark though, so be careful reading this I guess.
> 
> Enjoy!

Strickler stared at the white ceramic shards on the floor. At the blood dripping onto the otherwise perfectly, painstakingly clean floor. His blood feels like ice in his veins. He can only stare and dread what awaits him when the front door opens and his maste- the Trollhunter will be able to tell something is wrong, until adrenaline replaces the ice. His heart sped up quickly and he looked around wildly for the dust-pan. He left it somewhere in the kitchen, where was it? ‘No, clean up the blood first or you’ll have to get the blood off the broom. Washcloth.’

He grabbed the washcloth sitting next to the sink and bent down to wipe the blood from the floor. He’d have to wash the rag with peroxide after he picked up the glass, and then do the laundry afterwards, before the Trollhunter got home, and then set everything in a way so that it didn’t look like he did the whites already. And what about the glass? It might make a noise when he goes to take out the trash. But then what if he came home before the dishes were done? Strickler remembered last time. He didn’t want to think about that.

Then he heard the door click, and he froze. What was Barbara doing home already? He made to turn off the faucet so he could hide, but saw the doorway.

'Oh.’

He couldn’t tell if the ringing sound in his ears was the running water or not, but it was all he could hear as the Trollhunter- Jim Lake jr.- opened the front door and immediately locked eyes with him over the counter dividing the kitchen and dining room. Jim paused in the entryway before calmly placing his book bag on the staircase railing, as he always did after coming home from school, and walked over to Strickler.

“Did you break a plate?” he asked, breaking the horrible but sheltering silence that had overtaken Strickler. He leaned over the man and shut the running water off.

“Y-y- I- What are you d-doing home- I’m sorry,” he stuttered out. He went to pick up the rest of the glass and had a passing hope in the back of his mind about Jim not noticing the blood now getting smeared on the floor as his shaking hands tried to pick up the pieces. Jim crouched down and he flinched, dropping shards. Of fucking course Jim was going to notice the blood. He wasn’t blind.

“I’m sorry,” Strickler said again. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

And then suddenly, they were still. Jim frowned, holding his hands. “It’s dripping onto your dress.”

*M-my dress? Oh.” He looked down. Jim was right. Bright red stained the white of his apron.

Jim hummed. “It will wash out. Here,” he said, grabbing the cloth dropped onto the floor. It was still damp from cleaning, and Jim wiped the blood off his hand with it.

"Why did you try to pick the glass up with your bare hands?” Jim asked. One could think he was asking out of concern, what with his tone being so soothing. Strickler knew better.

He didn’t dare look up from the floor. “I wanted to clean it up…”

He felt Jim run a thumb over the palm of his sliced hand, making him flinch. “School got out early, to answer your question. Go bandage your hand. I’ll pick this up. Once you do that, go wait in the basement.”

Strickler stood up, wobbling and still keeping his eyes glued to the floor. He went to the bathroom to get the first aid kit and mechanically patched up his hand. He glanced at the mirror- The red spot stood out painfully. Would Jim punish him for that too?

He passed the kitchen and heard the water running again- Jim was doing the rest of the dishes. Strickler’s head buzzed with anxiety. Jim was furious. He never finished Strickler’s chores before punishing him, only did them as an afterthought when Strickler wasn’t able to get up. Once downstairs, he sat on his makeshift bed and clasped his hands together in his lap.

He felt nausea curl in his stomach as he waited. He tried mentally preparing himself for what was about to happen, but his attention kept slipping. Maybe Jim wasn’t going to punish him this time after all, he tried to tell himself. Today was already outside of the norm. But when had Jim ever shown him kindness without the purpose to rip it away from him later?

The noise of running water cut off from above him and he looked up only for a moment before he heard footsteps and looked back at the ground. The door opened and closed, and he heard Jim come down the stairs.

He saw Jim’s feet move in front of him, and then Jim’s face, when the Trollhunter grabbed his faced and forced him to meet his eyes.

“You don’t deserve your clothes. Take them off.”

The hope Strickler had been holding onto fell away with that.  
____  
____

Strickler laid across a table, gagged, with his hands bound above his head and legs pulled apart by rope. Near black bruises littered his body alongside welts and burns, and he stared at the ceiling blankly. Jim stood by the table, stretching. Focusing for so long took a lot out of him, after all. The Trollhunter looked Strickler over one last time, and tapped the bar-gag. Strickler flinched violently, eyes snapping shut. He made a pitiful noise.

“You aren’t allowed to take the gag out until I say otherwise, not even to drink or eat. I’ll know if you do. I’ll untie you in the morning,” Jim said, and then turned to go upstairs.

Once he was gone, Strickler opened his eyes. It was pitch dark in the basement now, but that didn’t stop him from still seeing Jim looming over him. He closed his eyes again, failing to stifle a sob. Shakes wracked his body for a time until exhaustion won the battle with his fear of what was to come tomorrow, and he sunk into a restless sleep.


End file.
